


Resin

by Anonymous



Series: Requests and Challenges [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Exposure, Fisting, Forced Ejaculation, Gags, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Revenge, Sexual Violence, Supernatural Kink Meme, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Historically, and as early as the 20th century, cue balls have been made of a wide variety of materials including clay, wood, ox bone, and even ivory. Today, they’re made of resin; a smooth and virtually unbreakable plastic. Dean’s about to become very familiar with the material when he hustles the wrong group of guys in a game of pool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompter** : anonymous  
>  **Community** : livejournal - spnkink-meme  
>  **Prompt** : [LINK](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/96405.html?thread=37171093#t37171093)
> 
>  **Kinks** : object insertion, gangbang, violence/aggression, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, fingering/fisting, forced submission, forced orgasm, exposure
> 
>  **Warnings** : non-con; so much non-con

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Dean had been hustling pool as long as he could remember. Next to credit card fraud, it was one of the most lucrative ways that hunters usually made money. Got ripped off in a bet against some sucker newbie on a random hot streak in poker, pool, arcade games, even a game of basketball? Congrats, you've probably been hustled by a hunter.

Of course, _no one_ can hustle for a living and _never_ get caught. So it was important to be able to run fast when the time came. 

Turns out Dean could run pretty fast. Just not fast enough. 

** ~~~ **

Dean was hauled up and then slammed back down, landing on the green felt of the pool table he had just cleaned up. He tried to sit up, scrambling to get away, but two of the guys he had hustled had climbed up beside him and were working to turn him over, forcing him onto his hands and knees, rough hands grabbing onto the waistband of his jeans and shoving them down. A fresh wave of panic washed over Dean as he struggled, the two on the table holding him still. 

Shit, he had known the one guy had said he was going to shove a cue stick so far up his ass he could taste it, but he hadn't thought he meant literally. The one behind him muttered something, and the fourth, standing off to the side laughed. A second later Dean heard the _clink_ of quarters in the slots of the table and then the mechanized rush of the balls being released, rolling and clattering their way to the open chute. 

“Rematch? Sounds fair. Gotta let me down though. Hard to play up here with my bare ass hanging out.” Dean shouldn't have baited them, but he was pissed, unable to move, and yeah, more than a little terrified. 

The guy behind him laughed darkly. “Cute. Funny. Don't worry, I'm sure we can find a pocket to sink ‘em in.” His words were met with howls of laughter from the other three. “See how funny you're feeling then, hotshot.” 

“Look, you wanna stick stuff in a man’s ass that's fine, more power to ya, but I don’t swing tha—MOTHER FUCKER!” Dean swore at the sudden flash of pain as his hole was stretched too much, too soon. He tried to think of what might be inside of him, but he pain was whiting out his thoughts as he fell forward onto his elbows, his mouth open as he screamed. 

He had never known pain like this; never even imagined anything could hurt this badly. He cracked open his eyes, blinking through the tears that were welling up to blur his vision, and saw something that made his stomach lurch violently and panic well up to seize his heart and clog his throat. 

The guy had made good on his threat; between his own spread legs Dean could see the long cue stick protruding from him. The man and his friends laughed, a loud whooping call splitting the air over Dean’s body. The guy behind him reached out and smacked the stick, making it jump, pressing painfully hard into Dean’s inner walls as it vibrated with the impact. 

If Dean hadn't been so scared, in so much pain, so humiliated, he would've been amazed. Who knew the human anus was so resilient? As it was, though, he just let out another tearing scream, his throat quickly becoming raw with the force of it. 

And then the guy was pulling the stick out and pushing it back in, splitting Dean open more and more as he writhed and tried to escape, strong hands holding him in place. 

“You know, I thought this would make me feel better,” the man fucking him with the cue stick said. “I mean, you fucked us over in the game; only fair that you be fucked with the game, right?” These words brought laughter from the rest of the group as the man gave the stick a harsh twist and Dean screamed again. “But I don’t know; it just doesn’t seem like enough, does it?” 

Dean screamed again, hoping that someone out in the main bar would hear, would come to investigate. He shouldn’t have tried to hustle in the back rooms, shouldn’t have insisted that Sammy stay back at the motel and research the case they were working on. The loud music of the main bar drowned out his screams; no one was coming. 

The man pulled the cue stick out for the final time, the movement rough. Dean clenched his ass on instinct, his body desperate to try to prevent another invasion. He heard the clack of cue balls knocking into each other as one was removed from the row in the slot of the table and the others rolled forward to close the gap. He held still, muscles coiling as he prepared to make one last desperate move for freedom. 

All at once he surged forward, managing to break out of the grip of the two that held him, clawing his way across the table. They lurched after him, crashing down against his back and sending him sprawling on the green felt. He twisted, trying to get out from under him, but then their hands were closing around him again, a knee coming to rest in the center of his chest as he was once more immobilized, this time staring at the ceiling and the bright lamp that hung low over the table, blinding him. 

Rough hands forced his legs apart and humiliation surged up to choke him. He felt more exposed, more vulnerable and on display in this position. He shouldn’t have moved. His thighs were forced roughly up towards his chest to be caught by the men holding him down, spreading him out and exposing his clenched hole. 

“You should relax,” the leader said, sounding amused as he ran a finger over the puckered rim. “It’ll only hurt worse if you don’t.” 

The next second two fingers were shoved roughly into Dean and he let out a roar of pain, back arching against the weight on his chest as he tried to twist away from the intrusion. The man didn’t allow much time for Dean to adjust before a third and then fourth finger was added, working him open, flexing and twisting. There was a moment where Dean found it strange that the man was preparing him—even if it was half-assed and hurried and hurt like a bitch—but then he realized it was only as much as was necessary; only as much as it would take to convince his body to open much, much more. 

The cold, smooth cue ball was pressed against his opening for a moment as the man let the fear of what was about to happen wash through Dean. 

“Please, don’t. Don’t, don’t don’t…” The gasped pleas were cut off by a long, broken scream as the man pushed, working the cue ball steadily past the protesting muscles. Dean felt like he was being torn open—was being torn open, he realized with horror as he could feel the smooth surface of the ball become slick with what could only be blood as the tearing pain increased. He let out a broken sob, tears streaming down his face as the ball was finally pushed completely inside of him. 

“Wonder how many more you can take?” The man’s question was met with cruel laughter from the others. 

“Man, don’t…” Dean’s voice was wrecked, cracking from the strain of his screaming and shaking from his sobs. “Just let me go; you’ve gotten your revenge…please…let me go.” 

“Hmm…” The man pretended to consider the hunter’s pleas. “Can’t do it, man. I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.” He paused as he brought another ball to the hunter’s rim, this one the solid blue number two, running it through the slow seeping rivulets of blood, slicking it up. “You rip us off; we rip you apart.” 

Dean was full-out crying now. He’d never been so terrified; never felt so helpless in his life as the burning pressure began again and the large ball was forced inside of him, coming to rest behind the first, pushing it further inside of him. Humiliation washed over him as the ball pressed against his prostate and he feel his dick give a light twitch despite the pain. 

The man and his friends noticed, and it brought a loud chorus of laughter to Dean’s ears. 

“You’re enjoying this?” The man asked, his fingers dipping into Dean’s now-gaping hole, setting the torn flesh on fire. 

Dean let out a choked sob. “ _No_.” 

“Getting hard, though.” The man chuckled. “Well, if you like it so much I’d hate to stop now.” 

A third ball—the solid red three—was forced inside of him, the widest part barely making it past the rim before it couldn’t go any further. Dean twisted and writhed—too full, overstretched, splitting open—and tried to hold back a sobbing moan as the movement caused the balls to roll slightly against his prostate. It was bad enough that he was trapped, completely exposed and violated in the worst way; why did his body have to respond to it like this? 

The man’s breathing had picked up, heavier and shorter puffs of air hitting Dean’s ass as he leaned over him, pushing at the still-visible surface of the red ball. Dean realized with a jolt of horror and disgust that the man was enjoying this; was getting off on how wrecked and humiliated he had left Dean. 

Dean prayed it was over, that now that he was completely full, couldn’t take any more that they would leave, satisfied that they had punished him. Leave him to drag himself off of the table and somehow put himself back together before he went back to the motel room to nurse his broken body… 

His stomach gave a lurch. How was he going to get the balls out? 

The man chuckled, his large hand coming to rest on Dean’s shirt-covered abdomen, just above his embarrassingly hard dick. “Bear down,” he said, pressing on Dean’s stomach with the heel of his palm. 

Dean didn’t want to; didn’t want to do that as people watched. He shook his head, another loud cry wracking his throat as his concentration shifted to keeping the balls inside of him. 

“I said…” The pressure on his abdomen increased and Dean gasped. “Push them out, you slut.” 

Dean couldn’t hold it anymore; needed to get them out, needed to get rid of the too-full, too-stretched feeling. His cheeks burned with shame as he pushed, working his muscles desperately to force out the balls. A fresh wave of tears wracked his body as he felt the first one—the red three—slip past his rim, slowly stretching and burning the abused flesh before it fell to the surface of the table with a loud _thunk_. His dick twitched as the remaining two shifted inside of him, dropping closer to the rim, held tight by his tensed muscles, and he let out a moan of relief as his rim pulled shut completely, no longer held open by one too many of the smooth balls. 

“That’s right, you bitch.” The man’s voice was low, arousal evident as he grabbed Dean’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart and dipping his fingers inside the wrecked hole, his finger pressing against the next ball. “Still got a few more to go—push them out like a good little slut.” 

Dean felt like he was going to vomit from the humiliation; wished he would die rather than live through this. But he did as he was told, bearing down to force out the second ball. This one was harder, cradled completely inside of him, but after a few minutes it finally worked its way past the spasming muscles, stretching him wide again for the man to see as he watched, catching the ball before it hit the table. 

“Just let me go, man.” Dean tried one last time to plead with them to stop, to leave him alone. The answer was only cruel laughter and then strong hands were forcing his jaw open and he realized with a sharp stab of horror that the ball he had just pushed out was being forced into his mouth, held tight behind his teeth to choke off his voice. He gagged at the taste, at the thought of what coated the hard plastic ball, tried not to vomit; if he vomited now he’d drown in it, the ball too wide and solid, too firmly held in place in its snug fit for Dean to get it out in time. 

“Shut up, bitch.” The man hissed. He slapped Dean’s thigh hard, dragging a now-muffled scream from the hunter. “One more; push it out.” 

And Dean tried, he really did, terrified of what the man would do next if he didn’t do as he said. He pushed hard, so hard that he felt light-headed, felt like he might pass out. But the ball wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t move any further than to gently nudge at his rim from the inside. 

“Looks like we’re going to have to help you out there, slut.”


	2. Part Two

Dean didn’t have time to process the man’s words before he was being hauled up and pulled off of the pool table. He was set on his feet and he bit back a moan as the remaining cue ball shifted inside of him, causing his hard cock to leak a bit of precum despite his own disgust and horror.

Rough hands fell in on his shoulders and pushed him forward, sending him stumbling into the man who had shoved the cue balls into him as his feet tangled in the jeans pulled around his ankle. He crashed into the man’s chest, a low groan fighting to escape his chest, caught and silenced by the ball in his mouth as the one in his ass jolted with the movement. He tried to stumble back, to get away, but the man caught him, one arm tightly holding Dean against him as his other hand came down to dip into his gaping hole. Dean whimpered as he jostled the ball, breathing hard through his nose as the ball in his mouth made him feel like he was choking. 

“Hmm… It’s up in there good, isn’t it?” The man seemed amused by this. “Maybe we can shake it loose. What do you think, boys?” 

Dean’s eyes widened as the other men laughed, words of agreement reaching his ears. He shook his head, tried to protest around the crude gag. The man paid his objections no mind, of course, and he pushed Dean back, sending him crashing into another man as the circle tightened. 

He was pushed and shoved roughly from one to the other, hands smacking his ass roughly, grasping, fingers dipping into him before one passed him forcefully on to the other. Tears of shame burned his eyes and he focused on staying upright, not tripping over his pants. He wanted to swing, wanted to fight his way out now that he wasn’t pinned down. But he was too disoriented by the constant movement, too distracted by the deep throb of pleasure that was burning at the edge of the pain from the constant stimulation of his prostate. And yeah, he was a little afraid of what they would do to him if he tried to escape again, and failed. 

“Doesn’t look like it’s coming out,” one of the guys said with a laugh as he twisted his fingers inside of Dean, poking and pressing at the ball before withdrawing his fingers from his gaping, abused hole and pushing him away. 

“Might have to help a bit more,” the leader agreed as he caught the hunter, spinning him roughly and slamming him forward so that his upper body was on the pool table again. Dean whimpered; it was getting harder and harder to breath around the cue ball. His jaw was screaming in pain, and the tears had sent snot rushing forth, his heavy, desperate breathing sending trails of it over his face and around his mouth. He felt completely wrecked, completely broken down and humiliated. How was it not over yet? What more could they do? 

The man thrust three fingers into him, his movements rough as they splayed, slipping beside the cue ball. He tried to pull it down; couldn’t get a good grip. Dean heard him chuckle. “Looks like three won’t be enough… Might have to shove my whole hand in there.” 

Dean shook his head violently, trying to speak around the ball, to beg him not to. But it was useless. He felt that tearing pain again, felt the man close his fist around the ball inside of him, knew that the obstruction holding his gaping hole wide open was the man’s wrist, the widest part of his hand and all of his fingers deep inside of Dean. 

He tried to scream as the man flexed his wrist, his knuckles rubbing and pressing against his prostate. His thighs shook with tension as pleasure burst forward despite his attempts to ignore it. 

“Gonna cum, you slut?” The man hissed. “Don’t matter what we do to you, does it? You fucking love it; gonna cum from my fist in your ass?” 

Dean shook his head, trying to fight off his body’s reaction, trying to stave off the pleasure and focus on the pain as the man tugged at the ball, knuckles still pressing against that bundle of nerves. 

It was when the man finally removed his hand, taking the ball with it and stretching the gaping, torn rim even further than before, that Dean lost it. Relief washed over him when he was finally empty, robbing his attention from staving off the orgasm, and before he knew it he was cumming hard, tears of shame flowing forth as he quaked with the power of it, his dick twitching and spraying the green felt of the pool table with his seed. 

The men laughed and the leader dropped the solid yellow one ball onto the table beside him. It flashed through Dean’s vision, covered in blood and other unthinkable things. 

“That was worth the two hundred bucks, kid.” 

And then they were finally leaving, the door to the back room slamming shut again as Dean struggled to work the ball out of his mouth, his jaw screaming in pain as he had to open it even wider to get it past his teeth. 

He fell to the ground once it was free, his body curling in on the floor, out of sight of the door. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, his body quaking with sobs of shame and humiliation and pain. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get up again. 

The next night he and Sam pulled into a new motel, Dean keeping his face determinedly blank as the pain in his ass tore at his mind after a whole day of sitting in the Impala. 

Inside, he tossed down a few bills for their room. What he had given the desk clerk and what was left in his hand amounted to exactly two hundred dollars. 

He could still taste resin and blood and _himself_. 

It wasn’t worth it. 

  
**The End.**   
_I hope you enjoyed it. :)_   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a prompt you'd like to submit? Click **[here](http://girlgotagun.livejournal.com/8537.html)** and leave a comment, and I'll see what I can do!


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